


Like glass

by TalkingAboutTheWeather



Category: Druck | SKAM (Germany)
Genre: Canon Trans Character, LOTS of pining and some running away, M/M, Some Italian, This is a wild ride im so happy with it, a little bit of arabic, a love declaration to venice, an old theatre, and art, anyway, bc its david, i love him so incredibly much, lots of painting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:27:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23462431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TalkingAboutTheWeather/pseuds/TalkingAboutTheWeather
Summary: “So,” he says, after a bit, the sound of Mozart accompanying them, “Has something happened in my absence?”Leonie looks at the ceiling, “No, David, while you were away on your little pleasure trip, the whole of Venice held its breath waiting for you.”David sends her a glare, then turns to Sara, “A non-sarcastic response?”Sara stops playing and turns around. “There’s the new boy.”David raises his eyebrows, “A boy?”Sara smiles and folds her hands in her lap, “No, the boy.”Leonie groans.Or, an 18th century AU set in Venice, featuring David as a painter, Matteo as the new boy in town, and a lot of pining.
Relationships: Matteo Florenzi/David (Druck)
Comments: 37
Kudos: 101





	Like glass

**Author's Note:**

> I love historical aus and i love venice, so this had to happen. However, im sure that, even though i did some research, lots of this wont be accurate. But oh well, fiction.
> 
> In the end notes I will explain all the art references i made. Im very excited to post this and I wish u a good read!!

There was a man once, who came by their village and left David a paintbrush and a piece of paper, precious things when you are used to chicken and sticks as your only form of entertainment. He came by their village, stayed a night, and in the morning he was gone again, the gift left on the woooden table in the kitchen.

He was a painter, and he came from far away. He had a leather bag, a patched coat, and fingers dark with coal. 

He came on a spring evening and left on a spring morning.

David still remembers his way of pronunciating the name of the city he was trying to _go_ to; as if his breath wasn’t quite enough to finish the word, as if, while saying it, he remembered its beauty and the words got stuck on the way out.

 _Venice_ , he breathed. _That’s where I am trying to go._

*

Venice in the morning is David’s favourite place to be. The fog raises silently between the canals, like a ghost stepping over water. 

David walks over the white stones, trying not to trip on the wet patches, and grips his bag, the paper threatening to spill out. Slowly, he starts hearing women shouting at each other, some cursing and some _singing,_ some a mix of both, while putting the laundry out of their windows. Slowly, the city awakes, and children start running out of the doors. 

David narrowly avoids one running into his side, and almost loses his grip. The child gives him a toothless grin, “Sorry, sir.” And runs away.

David shakes his head a little and keeps going, Leonie’s _palazzo_ being only a few turns away. Finally, he sees it, at the beginning of the square, the light blue walls just starting to lose their colour with the sea air.

He reajusts his grip, tries to flatten his hair, and wipes his stained fingers on his coat. He knocks on the wooden door, the door handle grinning at him with monstrous eyes. 

It’s Sara who opens the door, she smiles and ushers him inside. When the door closes behind them, she puts her hands on her waist and her face transforms into a furious grimace, “Hold! What drives thee on, fair youth, to meet thy death?” 

David blinks at her, “Uhhh.” 

Sara shakes her head, “I’m learning the lines of Skirina, for Gozzi’s new piece, _Turandot_. they are just asking for actors. What do you think? Be honest.” 

In that moment, the door at the end of the short corridor opens and Leonie steps through, “Oh god, from David’s face I can see you’ve ambushed him with _Turandot_ , too?” Sara shrugs. Leonie kisses her cheek, “You really need to stop doing that to our guests, dear.” 

Then, she grips David hand, “You’re slightly late.” David sighs. Her eyes sparkle, “But it’s good to see you again.”

David smiles at her, “It’s good to be back.” She gives his hand a squeeze, then she turns around, “Now. follow me.”

Sara and David exchange a look, and Sara rolls her eyes, smiling. Leonie, not having noticed anything, leads them to a bigger room, with cream coloured walls, a piano, and big windows letting light fall on a wooden painting easel.

“This room is probably the best. I know you need light, and this is the room that holds it the longest. You brought your own colours and...things?”

David laughs, setting his bag down, “Yes, I have my own...”things”.” While Leonie sits down on the sofa, David carefully takes out his canvas, his colours, and his brushes. 

Sara goes to the piano and starts playing something quiet and lovely.

Leonie puts one of the strands of her wig behind her ear, and readjusts the way her dress falls. “What’s this?” She asks, looking at Sara.

Sara closes her eyes and smiles, “Don’t you recognise it?” She opens her eyes again and presses all her fingers on the piano, grinning at Leonie, then moves them around more quickly than before, the sound is unrestrained and befuddling, she laughs, “Mozart! Mozart!”

Leonie shakes her head, “You wild soul.”

David smiles at them, passes a hand over the canvas, and clears his throat. 

Leonie looks back at him and stops fiddling with her dress. David takes a piece of coal and starts sketching her silouette.

“So,” he says, after a bit, the sound of Mozart accompanying them, “Has something happened in my absence?”

Leonie looks at the ceiling, “No, David, while you were away on your little pleasure trip, the whole of Venice held its breath waitng for you.”

David sends her a glare, then turns to Sara, “A non-sarcastic response?”

Sara stops playing and turns around. “There’s the new boy.”

David raises his eyebrows, “A boy?”

Sara smiles and folds her hands in her lap, “No, _the_ boy.”

Leonie groans. 

David has to laugh. “Are there not always new boys coming to the city?”

Leonie nods, “Indeed, are there not, _Sara_?”

Sara shakes her head, “No one like him.” She looks at David, “His name is Matteo Florenzi and he has come back to Venice after living in Germany for five years.”

David gets back to his drawing, “So he lived here before?”

Leonie puts her head in her hand, “Why are we talking about him?”

Sara ignores her, “His father is a really important merchant, or was, really, no one has heard anything about him anymore. Something happened to their family and they moved back to Germany where Matteo’s mother is from, like you, but now he is back. He’s a good friend of Jonas and Hanna. And he’s lodging with Hans, Linn and Mia. ”

David shades a part of Leonie’s wig, the white curls high on her head, “It would be nice to talk German with someone who isn’t Laura, again. But...why is he the boy?”

Leonie lets her head fall against a cushion, “Sara has a big crush on him.”

Sara wrestles her hands together, “I do not. He is just....very kind. And good looking.” She smiles at David, “I’m sure you would agree. Maybe you should make a portrait of _him_ sometime.”

David gestures to Leonie to put her face up again, she does it, making a grimace. He shades the part around her eyes, “Well,” he says, and grins, “he can’t be as good looking as some of the poeple I’ve seen in Florence, or Rome.” He puts his free hand on his chest, “Or, Mary be blessed, _Naples_!”

Sara and Leonie both laugh out loud. Leonie’s grimace is gone, and she shouts, “Oh, I knew it, you rascal! That wasn’t an educational art tour, that was you being a little Casanova, breaking hearts all over Italy!” 

David winks at her, “Oh, it was educational all right.” 

Sara gasps, grinning. Leonie throws one of her cushions at him.

David smiles and finishes the drawing off with a few black strokes. He takes out his colours, “I suppose I will just have to judge for myself when I’ll see him.”

*

Growing up, David had been a strange child. 

He often stared at things, the sky, the stars, the flowers, all the little beautiful things humans get to see in this world but often forget. 

His mother would then give him a little cuff on the head, telling him to get back to whatever chore he should have been doing, but David kept the colour of a butterfly in his mind, memorising it, until he could try to imitate it with the colours he made from plants and berries. 

He didn’t know why he felt like he needed to paint, his body just told him to, as if, if he didn’t, he would lose something. 

So, whenever he had the time, and sometimes even if he technically didn’t, he went outside and collected all the most colourful things and pressed them with stones, until a sort of paint came out, then he would use his fingers and imitate all the beautiful things he saw.

Sometimes, though very rarely, his father brought him pieces of paper and ink from the city, when they had enough money to afford it. It was a frivolous act, and his mother didn’t approve of it, but his father still did it, David could see how happy it made him that he could give David something more than food. How proud it made him.

Over the years, David didn’t lose his strangeness, though he tried to hide it, and every time the loneliness became too much, he turned to drawing. 

At night, when his thoughts became too loud and he couldn’t bear to be where he was and who he was, he took out the papers that were’t already filled with sketches, and the bird feather he had found in the woods, and he drew. 

He drew flowers, hands, houses, eyes, chickens, candles. He drew portraits of his parents. 

His mother often told him stories. Fairytales she had picked up from the people in Germany and tales from where she came from, she called them “The thousand and one nights.” 

Listening to her, David drew dragons, and princesses, and jinns, and kings, and thieves, and ghouls, and sailors.

But more often than anything else, he drew himself, like he really was.

*

How he is used to doing sometimes, David goes to church. It isn’t that he believes in god, but churches are great places to study other people’s art. The walls are filled with frescoes, some from the middle ages or from the Renaissance, some even newer, the colours are so many and so bright that David almost feels blinded when he looks at them.

Over the years, he has tried to go to as many as possible, but Venice seems to be made of small churches hiding away in little hollows between the streets, it is clear that he will probably never be able to visit them all. 

While the bigger ones have the more impressive paintings, David also likes the smaller ones, in those, he can feel a warmth and compassion the bigger ones lack, in those, he can’t smell the hypocrisy that always bothers him in the bigger ones, where riches shine from the altar while the poor knee before it. 

Be as it may, today David needs to do some studies, so he goes to the Chiesa di San Sebastiano, a Renaissance church with paintings by Veronese, one of the great masters.

While he wanders from figure to figure, making quick sketches in his leather notebook and studying Veronese’s lines, he hears the quiet murmur of people praying and the echoing sound of slow steps, entering or exiting from the church. 

It’s a meditative atmosphere, and he enjoys having these little moments for himself. Having returned to Venice just a few days ago from his tour of Italy, he needs this quiet time to settle down again. He missed this wonderful city, so different from the rest, even though all the other cities he saw were rich and exciting as well.

David smiles, while he sketches the face of an apostle, thinking back to the beautiful smiling women walking in the overfilled streets of Naples, or to the young men fishing on the riverbank of the Arno, their laughter echoing up to where he was walking on the bridge.

He had to get a new sketchbook as soon as he got back to Venice, having filled the last one to the brim with life sketches of the people around him and with copies of the works of the great masters.

He is so lucky that he is where he is now. He is so lucky that he can be who he is. 

He swallows, trying not to get anxious thinking about how quickly all his luck could be taken away from him in the future. The future is uncertain, always.

“ _Who’d be happy, let him be so, nothing’s sure about tomorrow._ ” He murmurs to himself, his eyes fixed on his little sketch of san Giovanni.

“That’s Bacchus’ Song by Lorenzo de’ Medici, right? Il Magnifico?” David jumps, closing his sketchbook and looking around him. 

A boy has come to stand next to him, David was so sunken in his thoughts that he didn’t notice him. 

The boy gives him a little grin, “A bit of a strange poem to think about in a church. Is it not maybe too pagan?” His voice is quiet and friendly, and David recognises a familiar accent in the way he closes his vowels a little too much, and in the way his r’s are weaker than the normal Italian one. 

David smiles at him, “We artists are allowed to think about pagan things.” 

The boy laughs, an old woman send him a glare and he presses his lips together. He looks back to David and rolls his eyes a little. When the woman has walked away from them, the boy opens his mouth again, “So you are in  
a church only for the frescoes, as an artist?” 

David shrugs. “I’m not sure I want to answer that.” 

The boy nods, “Very wise.” 

David starts putting his sketchbook into his bag, “And why are you here? A fervent believer, perhaps? Or are you praying for something?” 

The boy rubs at his left eyebrow, blinking at the fresco. “Actually, it’s because this place reminds me of someone.”

David closes his bag. The boy keeps looking at the fresco, so David looks at him. He has dark blond hair and his eyes are a special kind of blue, it looks like the water of the canals a bit outside of the city centre, where it starts mixing with the water of the sea. He is extremely pretty. David almost itches to get his sketchbook out again.

The boy looks down again, as if suddenly remembering that there’s another person standing beside him.

“Well,” he says, “I wish you good luck for the future, artist. May you get the pleasure you wish for.” He gives David one last crooked smile, and then he turns around and walks out of the church. 

Almost like a miraculous apparatition, like a visiting angel, he disappeared before David could ask him his name.

*

The whole rest of the day, David keeps being restless and slightly unsettled. It happens that random people talk to him, it happened quite a few times during his tour, but there was something...something strange about this one. 

Maybe it’s that it happened in a church and the incense fumes made David imagine their meeting was stranger than it actually was. 

Maybe it was the holy atmosphere of it all. 

Maybe it was his beauty, as if he had stepped down from the fresco on the wall. 

Maybe it was the familiar accent that David afterwards recognised as his own, a German one. 

Maybe it was his quick departure, without asking or giving a name.

Or maybe, maybe it was the way the boy had blinked at the painting, as if loneliness had suddenly engulfed him and he saw no way of coming out of it again.

David can’t stop thinking about it.

*

On Saturday morning, he goes to the fish market just next to the Rialto bridge, where his friend Mohammed works. 

They had first bonded years ago, when Mohammed had called out to him in Arabic, thinking, having seen him, that they were from around the same place. David did have some relatives in the Middle East, but he didn’t understand Arabic, his family having settled in Germany before he was born. 

Having explained the misunderstanding to him in his still stilted Italian, Mohammed had laughed and given him a trout for free. 

He had also offered to show him around Venice and teach him a bit of Italian and Arabic. Just like this, he was the first friend David managed to make on his own in the city. 

“ _Sabah el Kheir_!” David calls out today, grinning at Mohammed, who just finished packing a fish for an old man. His friend gives the fish away and grins back, white teeth lighting up his whole face. “David, _Sabah el noor_! You’re back!” 

He stretches out his arms and they share a hug over the fishes. Mohammed lets him go again, after having ruffled up David’s hair, and says, “So? How was it?” 

David sighs, smiling. “It was wonderful. This country is full of marvels. I will have to show you my sketches when you come over the next time. But how are you? Did something happen?” Mohammed smiles down at the mackerel he is already packing in for David with gentle hands, knowing that it’s what he always buys. 

When he looks up again, there’s a blush on his cheeks. “Well,” he says, and his smile is proud, “I got engaged.” 

David opens his mouth a few times, then grins. He takes one of Mohammed’s hands between his own and squeezes it, “My friend! That’s amazing!”

Mohammed smiles big at him and his eyes twinkle, “She’s amazing too. So much. David, you will love her too, she’s the most incredible person I’ve ever met. She’s clever and brave and strong and kind..and..and so beautiful too.” 

David laughs, “You’re so smitten!” Then he gives him a more serious smile, “I’m so happy for you. I can’t wait to meet her. What’s her name?”

Mohammed sighs, and there’s no word that would fit him better than dreamy in this moment. “Amira Mahmood.”

David smiles at him again, “Amira means princess, right?” Mohammed nods, the smile still very present on his face. 

David gives him the money for the fish and squeezes his hand again, “Congratulations. Come over soon and we can talk more!” Mohammed nods, then another man comes up to his stall and he turns his attention away.

How strange, David thinks, we are already at the age of getting engaged. He remembers Sara and Leonie telling him that Jonas and Hanna, whom he doesn’t know well, were engaged too, and two other friends of theirs as well. 

David laughs a little to himself, he himself isn’t so keen on getting married already. Of course there’s a romantic element in it that his artistic soul enjoys thinking about, a great love, like the one in the french poems! But his freedom seeking side abhors the idea of settling down already. The world still has so much to offer, after all. 

And, well, there’s a more practical issue as well that David doesn’t want to think about.

He will probably never marry.

Just in that moment, it seems to him to see a head of dark blond hair in the crowd light up in the sun. The head turns and David recognises the boy from the church. David blinks, and he’s gone in the crowd again.

Deciding on a whim, David starts running, pushing between the people, holding his fish tight, and looking around for golden hair, but, just like last time, the boy has already disappeared in thin air.

David stands alone in the bustling crowd, clinging tight to a dead fish, with something he doesn’t really know how to describe stuck in his chest.

  
*

Even when he was very small, David knew he was a boy. 

He couldn’t explain it, he just knew that he felt strange and restless and like something just didn’t fit.

He wore breeches as often as he could get away with it and he kept his hair as short as his parents allowed him to. 

Sometimes, people looked at him and called him boy. 

When it happened, David felt giddy and happy all day long, an euphoria he couldn’t explain filled him up completely.

He tried explaining it to his parents, they looked at him like he was crazy. 

But he tried again and again, until finally, weary, they decided he should do what he wanted.

A boy’s life is an easier one, anyway.

So he cut his hair almost clean shaved, using his father’s knife and looking at himself in the river, hidden in the woods where no one would see him. 

He bound his chest with linen pieces, it hurt terribly at the end of the day, but it was a pain he searched, for it made him look how he really was. 

He started wearing boy’s clothes and he gave away all the dresses. 

He exercised lowering his voice every day, until it came natural to him and he sounded just like the boys shouting at the market place. 

He changed his name and finally, finally, it fit.

The drawings had become reality and David felt as if this world was made a little bit for him, too.

  
*

Between portrait commissions and studies, David draws the boy from the church.

He sits on the steps going down to the water of one of the canals, dangling his legs, and thinks of his eyes. That colour in between city and sea, between here and there, closure and freedom.

He draws the boy’s little grin, raising up on one side of the mouth. It reminds him of the one the Baptist made by Leonardo wears. 

A mischievous smile, and yet a pretty one. One that promises something and yet laughs at you for hoping.

He also tries to draw the face the boy had when looking at the fresco. A face of absence, of loneliness. Of great sadness.

David passes a finger over the sketch and imagines holding the real one. Would he be warm? Would he be soft?

“Who are you?” He murmurs to himself, as if the drawing could give him an answer.

He sighs.

He changes the page and starts sketching one of the seagulls that has been dancing around him for a while hoping for a treat. 

When he’s finished, he throws a piece of bread toward it, which it swiftly picks up, already taking flight. 

The seagull flies high, gliding over the rooftops, perhaps towards the sea.

David smiles a little, “Lucky you.”

*

When he goes home, he prepares dinner for him and Laura, the fish he bought earlier and a potato each. They have a small stove in their little flat and he uses it to cook, as well. 

Between David’s portraits commission money and Laura’s salary as a teacher, they are able to keep the little flat which is actually a single room with the stove, two beds pressed in the corners, a window, and books and papers strewn around in piles.

He had first met Laura accidentally, bumping into her in the streets and thoughtlessly apologising in German. She had smiled at him, answering back, surprisingly, in German.

She told him afterwards that she had learned the language growing up in a wealthy family that had taught her German and French. 

However, her family had disowned her when they found out that she liked to kiss girls.

Laura had made herself a life of her own, then. It wasn’t easy, but she managed to use the knowledge she had aquired over the years to become a teacher for little wealthy girls, like she had once been. 

When Laura had dirst taken him in, it was supposed to be a temporary solution. But after a while, they decided they liked each other too much to separate. As David contributed to the rent and the grocery shopping, it worked perfectly. 

Laura had taken him in just like a little brother she had decided she wanted to take care of.

David loves her like the big sister he never had. 

When she comes home, she looks tired, with bags under her eyes and slightly dishevelled hair. But when she steps inside and smells the food, she smiles, letting her bag with papers drop and pulling off her coat.

“How was your day?” David asks, putting the food on the only two plates they have.  
  
Laura sighs, sitting down on her bed. “Sometimes it just hurts, you know? To work in such a wealthy place and then to go outside and see children starving. I will never get used to it.” 

David shakes his head. “It’s not right.” 

Laura undoes her long plait, letting the curly hair spring free. “It really isn’t. All the children on the street have the same right to an education as the ones in the palazzi.” She passes a hand over her face, then smiles at David. “How was yours?” 

He passes her her plate and sits down on his own bed in front of her. “It was good. I did quite a few sketches for my next commission and I met Mohammed again. Imagine, he got engaged!” 

Laura grins, “Oh, that’s wonderful!” 

They eat in silence for a bit, and David suddenly sees that her face looks a bit sad, and not only from the tiredness and frustration.

“What is it?”, he asks, swallowing some of the potato. 

She shrugs, “It’s just a pity that I will never be able to marry Linn.” She looks up, “And you, too...” she trails off. 

Linn is her girlfriend of a few years, she sometimes comes to visit. She works in one of the bookshops in the city centre. A very nice, if a bit silent, person. David reaches out and pats one of her knees, “You might not be able to marry her, but you found her. Even if you have to be careful, you can be together. That’s not nothing.” She nods, “And don’t worry about me. Maybe I will find the right woman and she will take me as I am. But, you know, I don’t care about marriage. I’m happy by myself and I will love many people without marrying them.” 

He grins at her, and she laughs. 

Summer is starting and the warm air from outside enters through the window. 

People shout outside and the city is still alive. Somewhere, someone is playing an accordion and the music flows threough the streets like the water of the canals. 

David sits with his sister and listens to the sounds coming in, feeling like, no matter what, he really is quite lucky.

*

If someone were to ask David out of the blue who his favourite artist was, even though he would have trouble deciding on only one, he would answer Artemisia Gentileschi.

She was one of the most incredible artists of the baroque time, her use of light comparable to Caravaggio’s.

She depicted in painting the violences she herself had lived through as a woman with horrifying realism.

If a woman can become one of the greatest painters of her time, then so can a boy born in the wrong body. 

And some day, every Holofernes will lose his head.

*

One of David’s favourite places to go near this magical city is the island of Murano. 

It’s the island of glass. 

Workers blow out burning hot coloured glass and skillfully make pieces that look like they come out of old fairy tales. 

David likes to observe them doing it, sometimes chatting with some of the workers. 

Sometimes, they even allow him to pick up some of the discarded glass pieces. 

He holds them up and looks at the sun shining through them. He tries to paint that same almost transparent colour they have. He uses them to make necklaces for his friends. Or he just turns them around between his fingers, marvelling at what a human being is able to do.

Today, he wanders a bit through the workshops, greeting the occasional worker he recognises. Then, after having looked a bit at how the fire sparks dance up, like coming out of a dragon’s mouth, and how the glass takes on elegant bodies, he leaves behind the workshops and wanders further inside the island.

There’s a park somewhere where he wants to sit down for a bit and sketch. 

He walks through the trees and winks at the women that lean out giggling of the windows of the palazzi on the side of the park. He finds a bench in the shade of a rose bush and sits down there.

He listens to the birds singing around him and takes out his sketchbook. 

He stares at the sketches of the boy for a moment, then turns the pages until he finds a blank one. 

He sketches some of the women leaning out of their windows, their fans and their high powdered wigs, their rouged cheeks and their little mouths. 

“Now that’s definitely not something fit for a church.” A voice says very close to his ear.

David jumps. 

He turns around and there he sits, the boy from the church, as if he had just stepped out of his drawing. 

The boy smiles his crooked smile, and David just stutters out, “What?”

The boy’s smile falters and he scratches his neck, suddenly looking embarassed. “Ah, sorry, you probably don’t remember me. We met at the church of Saint Sebastian? And you were drawing the fresco and..? Sorry, I’ll leave you.” 

The boy is about to stand up and leave, but David finally comes to his senses and catches his sleeve, saying, “No, I remember you! Wait!” 

The boy stops and looks down on him, smiling again. “Oh. All right then.” He sits down.

Suddenly, David is nervous and he doesn’t know why. All right, he knows why, a very pretty boy is sitting next to him and he doesn’t want to fuck this up.

The boy saves him by pointing to his drawings and saying, “Even though they’re not very Christian, they are very good.” 

Hah. David smiles and raises an eyebrow, “Thank you very much, how generous of you.”

The boy gives him a gleeful smile, “Ah, you’re very welcome. Now, what are you doing in Murano? A commission?” He starts fiddling with a thread that has come off his breeches’ fabric. 

David closes his sketchbook, “No, I just like it here. It’s quieter than in the city. And I like to watch the glass makers.”

The boy nods, murmuring, “I like the quiet here too.”

“Is that why you are here, then?”

The boy stops fiddling, pulling the thread off completely. “No, I’m actually seeing some friends after a long time. They work here in the glass factory.”

“That’s nice. Can I,-” David stops for a second. “Are you from Germany, too?”

The boy looks surprised, “Yes, I’ve just come back from there, actually. From Berlin. Now I recognise your accent!” He chuckles, face palming. “What town are you from?” He continues, now in German. 

David smiles at him, it’s really nice to talk in his native language again with someone else but Laura, “I’m from the countryside near Hamburg.”

The boy nods, “And how did you end up here, as an artist?”

David sighs, dramatically, “It’s a very long story.”

The boy smiles at him, his water eyes catching the light of the sun, and it’s quite disarming, “I’ve got time.”

“Aren’t your friends waiting?”

“They can wait for a little bit more.”

David leans back, “All right, then.” The boy leans his elbows on his knees, reminding David a bit of a child waiting for a story. “So. I always liked to draw and I had this dream of becoming a painter for a lot of time, but I didn’t know how that could be possible. I didn’t have enough money back then to get an apprenticeship in Hamburg, and all the very good painters are not in Germany anyway.” The boy snorts. “But, as fate smiled down on me, a fairly famous painter came by our house one day, asking for shelter. Having instantly recognised my skills he gave me the name of another painter, telling me I should go to Venice and ask him for an apprenticeship. So I packed my few belongings and came here, knowing very little Italian, and asked this painter to take me on.” 

The boy looks enraptured, “And did he?” 

David grins, “Of course. How could he not, seeing how good I was already?” 

The boy rolls his eyes at him, and David laughs. He might have skipped over a few bumps in his story, but the boy doesn’t need to know everything. Not yet.

The boy brushes some of his hair away from his forehead. “What kind of paintings do you do?” 

David shrugs, “A bit of everything, really. Mostly portraits.” 

The boy nods, “Nice.” Then he looks at David, “Is that what you really want to do?”

David blinks. “Well. It pays the rent.”

The boy starts chewing on one of his nails. “I see.”

David looks at him, “I mean, sometimes I do wish I could paint what I want.”

The boy grins around his finger, “And what is it that you want?” He asks, patiently.

David looks up at the sky, “Things that don’t really exist. “

The boy snorts again. “That might be difficult, then.” David reaches out and shoves him, and the boy cackles. Then he leans in again, “No, tell me really, what things?”

David sighs, “Ah, you know, people that can fly, and creatures from other planets, and sea monsters, and people that can dance on water, and dreams that sing and...” David looks to the boy. “I know I sound crazy.” 

The boy has a very small smile on his lips. He shakes his head and says, “No, you don’t. You sound like a story teller.”

They look at each other for a moment and David can’t look away. This must be what it feels like to be seen, he thinks, and his heart beats very loudly. 

Those canal-sea eyes look even more beautiful up close, a calm water David could easily lose himself in.

What a scary thought.

He clears his throat and the moment is broken. “Sorry,” he croaks out, “I need to go.”

The boy blinks and his face falls a bit. “Yes, of course. Did I-“

David stands and starts walking away, “I’ll see you around!”

It takes all of himself not to start running.

*

That night, it’s difficult to fall asleep. He thought he was over his insecurities. It had been so easy to talk to the boy, so easy to laugh together. 

But the boy had already seen so much. 

It’s too difficult to be known. 

Under all the layers, David is a lonely creature. He likes making friends and he likes flirting and he likes kissing, but he doesn’t know if he can let someone see all of him. He doesn’t know if he wants to.

“I am unknowable”, he whispers.

When he finally falls asleep, he dreams he is a piece of blown glass, transparent.

The boy without a name holds him up to the sun and looks straight through him.

*

The painter that had come to his house on a spring morning so many years ago had really left him a letter, an address and a name, and had told him to go there, to tell this painter that he recommended David, that he should give him a chance.

Having got this letter, David packed all his important things, mainly paper and coal, and had started his journey to Venice.

For a bit, his father took him on their horse. Then, he walked. Then, he got a ride on the back of a cart. Then he walked again. Then he caught a ride again. Finally, a boat. 

When he arrived at Venice, it seemed to him to be stepping into a dream. 

The marble blinked white in the sun, as if the whole city was made of ancient statues. 

The silks hanging from the windows shined in the most beautiful deep colours, the gondolas in the water were gliding slim black creatures, the people with their jewellry and their colourful dresses and their laughter seemed to come from all over the world, and the smell of the food was like a witch’s trick to lure you in.

David stumbled around stunned, not knowing where to look, not knowing how much his eyes could devour of this strange, beautiful place. 

Finally, after some asking around in terrible Italian, he managed to find the address of the painter.

However, the neighbours told him he wasn’t home. “Vai a San Marco, sta dipingendo là!” They told him, which, of course, he didn’t understand. 

He only catched the name, Marco, so he went around asking about that. Finally, he understood it was a square. When he managed to get there, he was stunned once again. 

A magnificent basilica, with a roof like the ones in his mother’s tales, and a high tower next to it greeted him. In front of it, two big buildings with columns and two loggiati in whose shade people strolled. And in the square, more people walking around. On the left side of the basilica, the sea appeared, blue on white, and before the water stood a column with a lion with wings on top. 

For a bit, David just stood there, thinking to be in a place that couldn’t possibly really exist, then he started to look for the painter.

As he couldn’t find him, he once again started asking around, finally someone pointed him towards a man who was bent over a wooden box, his head obscured by the cover of the box. David exchanged a dubious look with the man who had guided him towards him, the man laughed and patted his shoulder, then he left him there.

For a while, David just stood next to him, waiting. The man didn’t look up. 

Finally, David cleared his throat.

The sound of a head banging against wood was heard, followed by something that David recognised as a curse, then the man looked up. 

He seemed to be about thirty, he had a kind face, with brown eyes, and the curls of his white wig were a bit dishevelled. He massaged his head and drew his wig back to its place. 

He looked at David and blinked a few times.

David cleared his throat again. No words came out. He tried again, and in stilted Italian he said, “Are you the signor Giovanni Antonio Canal?”

The man nodded, “Everyone calls me Canaletto.”

David nodded back, nervously, “I would like to become your apprentice. I have this.” He quickly found the letter the painter had given him with the recommendation, and gave it to Canal. The man raised an eyebrow and opened the letter. He read through it, then closed it again. Then, in accented German, he said, “And what’s your name?”

David swallowed, “Schreibner. David.”

Antonio Canal smiled, “Ah, Michelangelo’s giant killer.“ he looked him up and down, “You’re a bit scrawny for that, though, aren’t you?”

David looked away.

“How old are you, boy?”

“I’m fifteen, sir.”

Canal nodded. Then he said, “How will you prove to me that i should take you up?”

David blinked. He had expected the letter would be enough. Maybe a bit too naive of him. 

David thought quickly, “Wait here, sir. I will be back in five minutes.” 

He ran down the square to where the column stood, took out his sketchbook, and drew a copy of the winged lion as quickly as possible, taking care to make it look even a bit more realistic than the statue. 

He ran back to where the painter stood with his strange box and pressed the sketchbook into his hands. 

Canal blinked down at the sketch, “What a Venetian choice, the symbol of the city.” He looked closer at it, “You would think it might take flight right here off the page.” David held his breath. Canal smiled, “Impressive, I admit.” 

He closed the sketchbook and gave it back to David, “All right, boy. Come to my house tomorrow at six in the morning and we start.”

And so it started.

*

Some days after David had run away from the prettiest boy he had ever seen, he goes to the public house where Hanna and Jonas work. He is supposed to meet Mohammed and Amira there, but he is happy to catch up with the others as well. Hanna’s family owns the place and Jonas works there as well, being Hanna’s fiancé. He also plays entertaining music on his fiddle on some nights.

David checks his reflection in the glass of the windows, he put on his nicest jacket and cravat tonight, then he tries to flatten his hair with no success and goes inside the dimly lit barroom, looking around for his friends. 

Finally, after some standing around on his tip toes, he sees Mohammed’s curly head bouncing with laughter in a corner. When he reaches the table, Mohammed jumps up and hugs him, then he takes the hand ofthe girl sitting next to him.

She is wearing a dark blue headscarf and a muslim dress, she has dark eyes and a beautiful smile. “I’m Amira Mahmood,“ she says, squeezing his hand, “Mohammed has told me much about his artist friend.” 

David smiles back at her, “Has he?” 

Before he can sit down, Jonas and Hanna come with some posset and fruit pastes and some very fine wine, just behind them, he hears Abdi and Carlos’ laughs. 

He first greets Jonas and Hanna, then he gets a hug from Abdi and Carlos as well, “I’m sorry I didn’t see you a few days ago at Murano, I came to visit the glass factory, but I didn’t stay long.” He tells them. 

Carlos shrugs it off with a hand, “No worries, we had another friend coming over.” 

Abdi grins at him, “Two big reunions would have been a bit much for a single day, anyway.”

They all sit down and chat a bit with each other, catching up. David talks a lot with Amira, who tells him that she studies medicine in Bologna, and comes to the conclusion that she’s one of the smartest people he has ever met, then he tells Carlos and Abdi a bit of his journey across Italy and they wiggle their eyebrows at all the right moments of his stories. 

After a bit, Hanna seems to recognise someone, because she raises a bit from the table and waves them over, shouting, “Matteo! Over here!” 

Ah, David thinks, taking a drink of his wine glass, finally I’ll meet the famous Matteo Florenzi Sara told me about.

But when he looks up, it’s the beautiful boy from the church that David ran away from a few days ago who stands at the table, confusedly blinking down at him.

Well, shit.

At least now he knows that Sara was right.

*

It’s Jonas who breaks the momentary silence that has descended upon the table at Matteo’s arrival.

He stands up, gives Matteo a big hug, then points to David, “You already know everyone else, but this is David, a very good friend of Mohammed’s. He’s a painter. David, this is Matteo, he grew up here and is my best friend but until a few days ago he still lived in Berlin.”

In a sort of trance, David offers a smile that hopefully doesn’t look strained, “We’ve actually met before.”

Jonas raises his eyebrows, “Oh, really?”

Matteo nods and pushes Jonas towards the table, presumably wanting to sit down. However, Jonas sits down beside Hanna, so the only place free is beside David. 

Typical.

David moves a bit nearer to Mohammed so Matteo has enough space, and also, perhaps, so their legs don’t brush.

Matteo clears his throat, “Yes, we accidentally met at Saint Sebastian’s church.”

Jonas looks at them, his eyes darting between them, “Ah, that’s nice.”

Matteo starts fiddling with a piece of bread, “Yes.”

David takes another sip of his glass of wine. 

Slowly, the chatting takes up again, even though David and Matteo sit in awkward silence. 

Finally, Matteo stops fiddling with the bread and turns towards him, “Look, “ he starts, but then stops, blushing, probably because he didn’t think that by turning towards him they would be that close. 

And, damn it, David can feel himself blushing, too, because he can see each of Matteo’s eyelashes and the little freckles on his nose and even the little marks on the side of his face that indicate that he must have suffered from smallpox as a child. Somehow, David feels endeared by every little blemish he sees. 

He sees Matteo swallow, the adam’s apple bobbling up and down, and try again, “Look, I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable last time, I’m sorry.”

David looks at the table, “No, don’t worry. I really enjoyed talking to you.” He looks up again and gives him a small smile, “Matteo, huh? Like the apostle?”

Matteo smiles back and shrugs, “My mother is quite religious.”

David blinks, “Oh, was she...is she the one the church reminded you of?”

Matteo leans back a bit, he looks wondering, “You remember.”

David moves a bit closer to him, so that he isn’t attached to Mohammed’s right side anymore, “Of course.”

Matteo’s eyes somehow look a bit wet, his smile a bit frail. Then he blinks, “Yes, she used to take me to that church as a child. She loved the frescoes, but she didn’t like the people of the church. She preferred a smaller one next to where we lived, she thought it more honest.”

David reaches his hand out a little bit, so that their little fingers touch. How brave of him. But when Matteo’s voice sounds as brittle as now, David can be brave. He can be anything. 

David keeps his voice low, “She sounds like a great woman.“

Matteo closes his eyes. 

David takes a decision. “Hey,” he says, whispering, “Do you want to get out of here?”

Just for a second, Matteo’s little finger hooks around his. 

How brave of him. 

Then, Matteo pulls his hand away, “Absolutely.”

*

They walk aimlessly around for a bit, avoiding the drunks and not answering to the prostitutes’ calls. Finally, they find a little alley with access to a canal that is completely silent. 

They sit down and dangle their legs over the water. 

David looks up, over them, the moon is a big silver mirror. “Do you think we will ever be able to go to the moon?”

Matteo snorts, “There would only be rocks anyway.”

“How do you know? I don’t suppose you’ve ever been on an exploratory trip there.”

Matteo shoves him a bit, so that David is dangerously close to falling into the water. David shoves him back. 

Matteo grins, “Well, what do you think there is, then?” He asks.

David shrugs, “Maybe there’s people like us, only different. Like...maybe they all have two heads.”

Matteo looks up too, “Maybe they all walk on their hands.”

“Maybe they speak through their thoughts.”

“Maybe they travel by jumping from star to star.”

“Maybe they live for centuries.”

They laugh together, and there’s something wistful in it, too. Slowly, David takes Matteo’s hand in his own. 

Matteo smiles at him, and even if it’s dark, it seems to him that the colour of his eyes reflects the lights in the water.

“I don’t know what it is,” David murmurs, “But it feels like I’ve known you for so long. As if I’ve lived with you through another time.”

Matteo looks down on their hands and passes a thumb over David’s. David almost shivers. Matteo whispers, “You talk so carefully. You storyteller.” He looks at the water. “It’s like you choose every word as if it were your last. And it’s in the way you walk as well, you take careful steps. And you look at everything twice, as if it were never enough.” 

“What do you mean?” David asks.

Matteo bites at the inside of his cheek, “Not everything is a challenge. You can let your guard down.”

David blinks. 

The sound of the water hitting the walls of the buildings fills the silence.

Matteo closes his eyes “What I mean is,” he shakes his head, “You don’t need to worry so much. I’m here now.”

David thinks back to the loneliness that distorced Matteo’s face in the church. That great sadness. 

He takes Matteo’s hand up to his lips and presses a kiss to his palm. 

How very brave. 

He says, “I’m here, too.”

When David looks into Matteo’s eyes again, he sees little tears in their corners, glistling like stars in the nightsky. 

David carefully brushes them away. 

Matteo leans his head on David’s shoulder, and David puts his arm around him, and they sit like this, listening to the sound of the water at their feet.

*

The first day David worked with Canal, he asked him about the strange box. 

“Ah,” Canal had said, “Have you ever heard of a ‘Camera obscura’?”

David had shaken his head. 

Canal had motioned him forward, so that David stood next to the box, “It comes from latin, it means ‘dark chamber’. Don’t worry, it’s not some sort of witchcraft or even alchemy, but what it does is still quite magical. Come, come, boy.” He opened the latch and gestured David to look inside. “You see, the lense reflects the image from outside, in this case the basilica, and projects it on the paper. Do you see?” 

David looked and almost couldn’t believe his eyes, an exact replica of the outside was projected in minature on the paper. “I see!” He said. 

He heard Canal laugh, “Isn’t it great? We have our very own reality here, just turned upside down.”

*

Venice’s other name is “la Serenissima”, which means, “the most happy one”.

That’s a bit how David feels too, right now. 

Almost every day, he and Matteo meet up and do something together. They walk around the city, exploring narrow passages and abandoned houses. 

They dance in the piazzas in the evening, when all the people of the neighbourhood come out to play music together in the warm summer air. 

They jump from boat to boat, making it a challenge not to fall into the water or to be caught by the boat owner.

Matteo steals little croissants from the bakery he works at and they share them sitting on the docks, looking at the sun go down, disappearing in the sea.

David sits next to him and sketches his face, the dear eyes and the lovely mouth. Soon, his sketchbook will be full to the brim with only one person.

David feels like every single one of his threads is coming alive with joy.

*

Antonio Canal’s father had been a scenographer and Canal, too, had started his career by painting sets for the theatre. 

One day, Canal took David to an old theatre, the outside looked abandoned, the walls slightly burned. The name was barely readable on its front, but after a bit, David managed to make it out: “Teatro Sant Angelo”.

Canal didn’t seem bothered. With one hand holding his wig, he entered the place that seemed to be falling apart and shouted back that David should “Follow me now, will you.”

So David did.

It was an eerie place, the colour on the walls was crumbling, the red curtains of the stage had holes in them, the seats were broken. Canal stood on the stage and gestured David to come up as well. 

“Won’t it break?” David asked, wary.

Canal huffed, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

David climbed up, ignoring the sounds of the old creaking wood underneath his buckled shoes. “Look here,” Canal said, and pointed towards two great wooden panels at the back of the stage. “This one was made by my father, this one by me.” Even though a big part of the panels was black with coal, some of it still remained intact.

It seemed to represent the ruins of an old castle, ivy running up on its sides. At the corners of the panel, pink roses bloomed on a light blue background.

Canal nodded at him, “Go on, boy. Take your sketchbook and copy what you want.”

Grinning, David began to sketch, occasionally allowing himself to be fanciful and adding a dragon or a knight between the castle’s stones. 

Meanwhile, Canal wandered around, passing his fingers over the walls. 

“What happened to this place?” David called out.

“It burned down a few years ago,” Canal shouted back. He added, almost like an afterthought, “It always seems to happen to theatres, as if such fantastical worlds could only end up in flames.”

David finishes off the copy of one of the roses, “Is that why you stopped painting scenography?”

Canal rubbed the ash off his fingers, “No, I just can’t deal with how dramatic playwrights are.”

*

Tonight, David and Matteo stand before the same theatre. For a while they just stand before it a bit dubiously, then David decides to purposfully stride forward, guiding a reluctantly following Matteo inside.

“Are you sure this thing won’t break down, flattening us to the ground?”

“I’ve been here before, it looks worse than it is.”

“If I die it’s your fault.”

“If you die, then I’ll probably be dead as well.”

“How reassuring.”

“Stop whining.”

Matteo feigns biting at David’s shoulder and David pushes him off, laughing. “Here we are,” he says, “Look.”

Matteo looks up and his eyes go big, he turns around in a circle, “What a strange place.” He whispers.

David sits down on the stage, “My teacher brought me here, years ago. He worked on the set designs when the theatre was still used.”

Matteo walks towards the wall and passes one finger over the ash layer, then he blows on it so that it creates a big grey cloud in the air. Matteo coughs and David laughs at him.

Matteo passes another finger over one of the seats, then he quickly throws himself on David, streaking him with ash. “And that’s what you get for laughing at me.” He cackles.

They wrestle for a bit, ignoring the wood’s ominous creaking, until David manages to pin Matteo’s ash hands down, straddling him at the waist. 

“Hah,” David grins, “I won.”

Matteo smiles happily up at him, as if this was exactly how he planned his ash attack to end. David leans his forehead against Matteo’s and Matteo bumps their noses together. 

Slowly, David leans in. “Can I kiss you?” He whispers over Matteo’s lips. 

Matteo’s canal-sea eyes are half closed. “I’ve been waiting since I first saw you in the church for this.” Matteo says. 

David laughs, “How very blasphemious of you.” 

Matteo grins, “Kiss me.” He says, softly.

So David does.

They kiss for hours in the abandoned theatre, nothing else around them but the ghosts of an age long gone. 

After a while, they’re still laying on the stage, curled around each other. David passes his fingers through Matteo’s dust coloured hair.

He murmurs, “When I first saw you, I thought you looked like one of Botticelli’s golden haired angels.”

Matteo smiles lazily at him, “I will grow out my hair then.”

“For me?”

Matteo huffs, “Don’t be arrogant. Just to enhance my own beauty.”

David pulls a little on his hair, “Don’t be arrogant. You’re not that pretty.”

Matteo grins at him, “The amount of times you draw me says otherwise.”

David shuts him up with another kiss, meanwhile he takes his hand away from Matteo’s hair and passes his thumbs over Matteo’s cheeks. 

When they catch their breath, Matteo takes one of David’s hands and presses their palms together, their hands are exactly the same size. 

“Where would you like to be, right now?”He asks.

David intertwines their fingers, “Nowhere else but here.” 

Matteo presses a kiss to one of David’s knuckles. “No, don’t be cheesy.” 

David opens his mouth to protest, but Matteo pulls up his other hand and puts a finger on his lips “No, tell me, if you could be anywhere, in the whole universe, where would you like to be?” 

David hums, “How about the moon?” 

Matteo smiles, “Of course you would.”

David blows some air in his face, “And you?” 

Matteo looks at their intertwined fingers, “I wish you could meet my mother.” 

David puts their hands on his chest, right where his heart beats, “Would she be all right with us?” 

Matteo smiles, “She’s the kindest person on this whole world.”

David puts his other hand over their intertwined ones, “What happened?” He asks. 

Matteo sighs, then he looks at the painted ceiling. “My mother is ill. She has depression, it makes her very sad for long periods of time. So sad, that she doesn’t get out of bed. It’s almost like she goes away, even though her body stays here. My father couldn’t deal with it. He decided to bring her back home to Germany, to an asylum. But she isn’t crazy, she’s just ill. I managed to convince him to let her live alone. For a while I stayed with her, taking care of her, but I couldn’t bear it. I left her and came back here. Now she lives all alone.” 

“What about your father?”

Matteo huffs, “I don’t know where he is. He disowned me when he saw that I took my mother’s side.”

David holds their intertwined fingers very tight.

“Do you think-“, Matteo starts, “do you think it was egoistical of me to leave her?”

David takes his face into his hands and kisses his forehead. “No. You can’t live for someone else. It would not have been fair towards you.”

Matteo sighs. “I miss her. And I feel so guilty.”

David hugs him as tight as he can. “Don’t.” He whispers into his hair.

*

It’s so beautiful to be with Matteo that David ignores the little voice in his head, who sounds a bit like a younger version of himself, telling him to keep his distance and to build his walls back up.

Would it be so bad to be known? Would it be so bad to be seen?

Has he not lived long enough with loneliness as his closest friend?

A piece of glass is just a piece of glass.

*

One night, they go together to one of the inns known as a friendly place towards mollies like them.

They take two pints of beer and chat the whole evening long, over the many other voices in the place.

Matteo seems always to be touching him somehow. Sometimes he keeps a hand on the back of David’s neck, sometimes on his shoulder, sometimes he presses quick kisses on his jaw, sometimes, like now, he plays with his hands.

It’s nice to be able to be open with their affection here.

“Did I ever tell you,” he says now, holding David’s right palm in his hands, “That I love how your hands are always stained with ink or coal or paint?”

David grins, “No, you didn’t.”

Matteo kisses the centre of David’s palm, “Well, now I did. I love it.”

David closes his hand around Matteo’s. 

Matteo looks at him, and there’s a tenderness in his eyes that is almost unbearable.

David feels something stuck in his throat that suddenly makes it hard to breath.

“Excuse me for a moment,” he says, and pulls away his hand. He goes to the restroom to clear his thoughts.

He needs to tell Matteo. He can’t continue to be with him without him knowing.

David leans on the wall and sighs.

Just as he presses his hands over his eyes, he overhears two men outside the door.

“I swear, it was just like in the story of Rolandina.”

“Wait, who?”

“You don’t know that whore’s story? Come on! All right, so, she was this whore working on the Ponte delle Tette, she was apparently very beautiful and successful, however one client accused her of forcing him to sodomy! She was taken to court and, surprise of surprises, she was a he! She was originally called Rolandino, think of that!”

“Fuck, seriously? You can’t trust anyone these days.”

“Honestly, it’s all freaks out there.”

The voices go away after this.

David’s heart seems to be so high in his throat that it’s almost in his mouth.

This can’t end well. Even with his kind Matteo. He can’t risk it. 

If Matteo didn’t react well, David could lose everything, his job, his flat, he would have to leave everyone.

He doesn’t want to think about the possibility of being put to death.

David swallows. He needs to go.

When he gets into the barroom again, Matteo is still sitting with their pints. He strikes a lonely figure, with his dust hair and his lanky body in the midsts of all these burly men.

He needs to tell him something, at least.

“Hey.” David says, coming up next to him.

Matteo grins, “Welcome back.”

“Listen,” David scratches the back of his neck. “This went too fast for me. I need to go, I’m sorry.” 

He doesn’t look at Matteo’s face, he can’t bear to, he just takes his coat and leaves.

“Wait! David!”

He ignores him and goes home, his heart breaking just like glass.

*

The first nights he passed in Venice were not the best. 

The only place he found to sleep was an overfilled inn in which he had to share a bed with four other guys, and the room with ten others. 

Not only was the stink of so many bodies something almost deadly, but David was also constantly on guard, so that he barely managed to sleep.

He usually took the linen pieces bound around his chest off in the night, but he didn’t even consider it here. However, this meant double the pain the day after.

Those were some of the loneliest night in his life, he felt like no matter what he did, he would never be able to fit in.

He had made it to Venice, Canal had accepted him as his apprentice, and yet. 

And yet, there he was, sleeping with one eye open and clinging his bag to his chest like a shield.

He felt so terribly out of place.

*

Three days after David has left Matteo at the pub, he finally decides to get out of bed.

He takes his sketchbook and looks at all the sketches he has made of Matteo. Almost as if his body has a mind of its own, he picks up his brushes and his colours and he starts a portrait. 

At the end of the day, it’s like stepping out of a trance. He blinks, and there he is on the canvas, his Matteo, smiling that crooked grin, the water eyes calm and patient.

David feels like crying.

He lets his precious brushes fall to the floor and takes his face in his hands, pressing his eyes closed.

He stays like this until it becomes dark outside, bent over the portrait, wishing things could be different.

  
*

While the Camera Obscura was an exciting invention, Canal’s real abilities showed when he painted.

The colour seemed to give the drawings real life. It was not a simple copy of reality, it was something more, a magical version of what stood before them.

Canal winked at him, “It’s all a trick of light.” He said, then he cleared hs throat, “I mean, literally.”

David looked closer at the painting.

“You see,” Canal continued, “It’s the light in the painting that makes it alive. Here the light is golden, it’s early afternoon. The people are lazy and a bit sleepy. In another painting it’s pale because it’s full noon, it’s almost blinding where it hits the roofs. In another one it’s light pink, dawn.” 

David blinked, “But you can’t see the sun.” He murmured.

Canal smiled, “You don’t need to. All that matters is the light it gives.”

*

On the fifth day that David hasn’t left their flat, Laura stands with her hands on her waist and says, “Enough moping. It’s time you go out.”

David hides further inside the covers, “I’m sick. I can’t.”

Laura glances at the portrait that sits near the window. “You’re lovesick. This is the only cure, you can’t keep staying here and staring piningly at his face. Get your nightgown off and dress. Go out.”

She throws his shirt, waistcoat and breeches at him. 

David groans, but he starts dressing. “Where would I even go?”

Laura seems to take pity on him, finally, because she comes near and presses a kiss on his forehead. “Just go out, it will do you good.”

So he does.

*

He wanders a bit around, almost forgetting how the streets work that he’s explored for more than five years now, until, when, by taking a wrong turn he almost falls into a canal, he decides to go visit Leonie and Sara, like he did months ago when he came back after his tour.

Leonie comes from a wealthy family, this is why she lives in a palazzo. However, most of her family lives somewhere near the lake of Garda, so she usually has the place to herself.

This means, of course, that most of the time Sara lives with her. David doesn’t know what exactly is happening between them, but Leonie is completely in love with Sara. Sara seems oblivious.

Sara does not come from a wealthy family, she occasionally works as an actress at one of the many theatres in Venice, and she’s actually very good.

Leonie also uses her palazzo for a women’s salotto. Once a week, a room is filled with women from the city who chat about literature and art while drinking coffee snd eating sweets. Leonie is very proud of this.

Today, he hopes the palazzo is empty except for his friends.

When he finally gets there, he knocks with the monster faced door handle, and waits.

Finally, it’s Sara who opens the door. “David!” She exclaims, “How lovely!” Then she seems to see his eye bags and his slumping shoulders. Quickly, she opens the door wide, “Come in. Are you all right?”

When he stands inside, Leonie is already waiting, looking at him. Sara closes the door and goes to stand next to him. They both wait for him to say something. 

He sighs.

“I think I fell in love.”

*

They make him sit down in the living room and explain everything. They both know about his situation, when he tells them that he couldn’t risk telling him, Leonie huffs.

At his offended look, she takes David’s hand in her own, a surprisingly affectionate gesture coming from her. “Listen,” she says, “I’ve known Matteo since we were children. He might be a bit of an idiot, and he’s not my favourite person in the world, but I assure you, he’s one of the kindest ones I’ve ever met. You don’t need to fear for his reaction. He would never harm you.”

Sara takes his other hand. “Take a breath, David. You don’t need to always worry so much.”

David closes his eyes.

“What do I do?”

Sara and Leonie exchange a glance. 

Leonie shrugs, “Tonight is the Festa del Redentore. Find him there and talk to him.”

Sara smiles at him, ruffling his hair a bit, “You have a place here, too, David.”

*

David goes home and dresses up in his nicest clothes. He throws one last glance at Matteo’s portrait and goes outside. 

The Festa del Redentore is an annual festivity that celebrates the end of the pest in Venice. The whole city lights up with fireworks and laughter.

When he goes outside, there’s so many people that David wonders how he could ever find Matteo in such a crowd. He sighs, let’s leave it to fate, he thinks.

Everywhere, on the balconies, on the bridges, in the doorways, people are laughing and talking and singing. Music comes from every corner. Libations are sold from carts. People walk around with masks made of stretched out animal skin dyed black and white, someone presses one also in David’s hands and he ties it around his head, feeling a bit like the character of a fairytale.

The air is full of colored smoke, from firecrackers and bottle rockets set off from the bridges and over the water. The gondolas are packed full with people that lean over the water. The city is a place of lights: lanterns and firecrackers and torches and candles stand everywhere.

David stumbles around stunned, but still keeping an eye out for a dark blond head.

Somehow, he gets drawn into a circle of dancing people. He takes the hands of random people, and they dance around to the sound of fiddles and singing. Some of the women wink at him, and after enough spinning, he has to laugh out loud.

The circle opens up, and random pairs are formed, David is spinned from one person to the other, all wearing the most colourful clothes and masks.

When the music finally stops, David has just finished spinning around an older woman. He thanks her and gives her a bow. Then he goes to sit in a doorway, trying to catch his breath again.

He looks at the crowd around him, trying to find Matteo.

Just when he is about to give up, the great fireworks are launched into the sky and the people explode in applause and shouting. 

However, David isn’t looking at the sky, because the fireworks just lit up a dark blond head, standing on a bridge just next to him.

While everybody stands around with their heads tilted up, David makes his way across the crowd, his eyes fixed on the blond hair.

Finally he stands next to him. 

It must be him, the stature is the same, the hair is the same, the hands leaning on the handrail of the bridge are the same. Only a red mask is obscuring his face.

“Matteo?” David says, hoping that the boy will hear him over the sound of the fireworks.

The boy looks over. Sea-canal eyes blink under the mask. It is him.

Matteo stays silent for a bit. Then he looks down, “What do you want?” Even though his voice is low, David can’t hear anything else. 

David carefully puts a hand on Matteo’s shoulder. He leans in so that Matteo might hear him better, “Let me explain.”

Matteo takes his hands off the rail. He turns to David and nods.

*

They find a hidden alley where the sounds of the fireworks and of the people are muffled. They sit down on opposite sides, leaning their backs on the walls.

David takes his mask off. Matteo does the same. 

David fiddles s bit around with it. “I’m sorry.” He says, “I shouldn’t have left you like this. But I was scared.” 

Matteo shakes his head a bit. “Because you don’t want to be known?”

His voice is so soft that David could cry right here and there. “No,” he says, “Well, yes. You don’t know something about me that could change your mind.” 

When he looks up, Matteo is shaking his head again, a very small smile on his lips. “I don’t think so.” He says.

David swallows, “Wait.” He sighs. “All right, so. I am a boy. I am. But my body...I was born in a girl’s body, but I am a boy.”

Matteo looks at him. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. He frowns. Then he swallows and nods. “All right.” He says.

David crushes the sides of the mask between his fingers. “You believe me?”

Matteo’s eyes are as gentle as they were in the inn, when he talked about David’s stained hands. “I know you.” He whispers.

David lets out a big breath and laughs. It’s like all the tension in his body has gone free. He leans forwards and lets his head bump into Matteo’s shoulder.  
Matteo puts his arms around him and strokes the back of his neck.  
David’s messy laughter somehow becomes messy crying, but Matteo just keeps holding him tight.

After a while, David leans away, brushes a hand over his wet face, and says, “Do you want to dance?” 

Matteo grins, then he takes his mask and ties it around David’s face. David takes his own and carefully ties it around Matteo’s head. 

“Hah,” Matteo says, “Now you look like me and I look like you.” 

David smiles, leans in close and presses a kiss on his lips. “Just turned upside down.” He murmurs against his mouth.

*

They spend the rest of the night together, dancing with random people and singing, swaying together beneath the lanterns. Other couples, women and women, men and men, kiss each other under the lights, it’s a night of freedom and joy.

After a while, David takes Matteo to his flat, which is empty because Laura is somewhere with Linn.

They giggle, undressing each other with very careful hands. 

When they’re laying in David’s small bed, their arms around each other, David feels like this is exactly where he should be.

Before they fall asleep, David whispers into Matteo’s hair, “I love you.”

Matteo kisses David’s neck, “I love you, too.”

*

David dreams that he is holding Matteo’s hand and walking over water.

They walk over the whole sea, from continent to continent. When he looks down, he sees that all the water in the world has become glass.

It catches the sun and lights up like a great star.

*

After five years of working together, Canal decided he wanted to move to England.

“I’ve had enough of Venice.” He said, packing his things, “I’ve already painted everything here!” But David knew that it also hurt him a little to leave his home.

When saying goodbye, Canal stood before him, they were the same height now. 

“Boy,” he said, “David. You did a good job. I’m happy to have you as my successor.” He patted David’s shoulder in the awkward way he had, “Go on painting.” 

They shook hands almost like equals.

When he got on his boat, waving at David, he shouted down, “I will come back someday! Don’t lose yourself in your faitytales till then!”

Little did he know, David felt like everything he did was still less magical than Canaletto’s paintings.

*

When David wakes up, Matteo is already up, crouching before the stove and warming up some coffee. He has also already cut up two pieces of bread and put them on a plate. 

The light that shines in is warm and quiet, Matteo’s hair looks like it was made with gold leaf by some medieval artist, maybe Simone Martini.

“Good morning,” David says, stretching his arms out. Matteo smiles at him, “Good morning to you, Signor Schreibner.”

They eat breakfast sitting together on David’s bed and occasionally shoving each other off it. After a while, Matteo points at something, having finished chewing, he says, “And what’s that?”

David looks and, oh, yes, the portrait. “Well,” David says, “That’s you.”

Matteo laughs. Then he goes on his knees to look at it better. “This is incredible.” He grins up to David, “I always knew I would be a good muse.”

David gives him a playful kick. Then he goes down to his knees next to him.

“Do you like it?” He asks.

Matteo nods, he smiles and says, in a wondering voice, “You know me, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> SO! I hope u liked it! Here’s some info and links for u:
> 
> Gozzi was an actual playwright, he wrote more fairytale based works in contrast to Goldoni. Turandot is also an actual work of his. 
> 
> The Chiesa di san sebastiano does exist, even though i dont think ive ever been there. I chose it bc san sebastian became a gay icon in art ;)
> 
> “Chi vuol esser lieto sia, di doman non c’é certezza” this is the original italian quote that david mumbles to himself. A fun, great renaissance poem about making the best of today, bc tomorrow u could be dead! Carpe diem and all that.  
> Heres a link to an italian/english version: https://www.babelmatrix.org/works/it/Medici,_Lorenzo_de_-1449/Trionfo_di_Bacco_e_Arianna/en/32580-A_song_for_Bacchus
> 
> Even tho he wrote this, Lorenzo de’ Medici was not actually a poet! He was the most important member of the medici family that ruled over florence during the renaissance. He is still known as “the magnificent one” bc he was just so great (he actually did a lot of good things for art!)
> 
> San giovanni is usually the apostle that leans his head on jesus at the last meal. Probably his lover
> 
> Heres a link to see the Battista by Leonardo, i just love that mischievous smile: https://images.app.goo.gl/1SFRUBTAhfG6vzDU6
> 
> “Sabah el kheir” and “Sabah el noor” is arabic for good morning!
> 
> Artemisia Gentileschi was a great great woman, heres her wikipedia page so u can read all about her: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Artemisia_Gentileschi
> 
> Canaletto is probably the most famous painter of venice, so i doubt he would just have taken on a stray german boy as his apprentice, but oh well, fiction! Heres his wikipedia page:https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canaletto
> 
> Bologna apparently was one of the few places where women could study medicine at university back then. Not sure about muslim women, but amira would have found a way
> 
> This is the Camera obscura, the forerunner of the photocamera (!) :https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Camera_obscura
> 
> The painting of the saint Marks square which i imagine canaletto would have been doing when david found him: https://artsandculture.google.com/asset/the-piazza-san-marco-in-venice/ngEjiEaEofpMEg?utm_source=google&utm_medium=kp&hl=it&avm=2
> 
> The famous column of saint Mark with the winged lion, the symbol of venice:https://evenice.it/sites/default/files/colonne-san-marco2kkk.jpg
> 
> The Teatro Sant Angelo is a real theatre which, however, never burned down! It got closed down in the 19th century during Napoleon’s invasion, if i remember correctly. Its still standing somewhere in venice.
> 
> Botticelli painted lots of these androgynous angels, but i had this painting in mind (also what a gender envy, GOD):  
> https://www.conoscifirenze.it/upload_file/articoli/Arte/Botticelli/Madonna_Magnificat_Botticelli_Particolare.jpg
> 
> Rolandina was an actual person! Hers is a very sad story. However, mixed with sadness, i think theres inevitably always some excitement in finding out that there were queer people before you in history. She seemed to actually have been intersex, but i changed the story a little so that it fit better.
> 
> The “ponte delle tette” is literally the “bridge of tits”, im not kidding, it still exists. The windows over the bridge belonged to a brothel, the prostitutes leaned out of the window showing the people passing underneath their wonderful bosoms. So, bridge of tits
> 
> The Festa del Redentore is an actual festivity that still goes on in July:https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Festa_del_Redentore
> 
> Simone Martini was a famous medieval painter, heres an example of his painting style:https://www.firenze1903.it/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/IMG_5976-1200x900.jpg
> 
> AND THATS IT  
> Please, if u enjoyed reading this, leave kudos or a comment! They make my day! As always, my tumblr is @rimbaux if u want to talk!


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